


Two Suits

by cinderadler



Series: In the Woods, Somewhere [2]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Camping, Dress Up, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Lust, M/M, Public Blow Jobs, Touch-Starved, missed you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:20:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26091028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderadler/pseuds/cinderadler
Summary: A sequel to 'On Horseback coming out of Lagras.'John and Arthur end up brawling in suits and spend the night out together, out of the town, realising that Dutch and Hosea may have set them up.
Relationships: Hosea Matthews & Dutch van der Linde, Implied Dutch van der Linde/Hosea Matthews, John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Series: In the Woods, Somewhere [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1894354
Kudos: 38





	Two Suits

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Young Buck by Braids. (Take a listen)  
> "Everyone needs a little numb once in a while."
> 
> Let me know what you think, x.

“Well, since you just up and left, sticks and all, some of us have had to pull the horse a little harder.” Arthur ribs John, trying to undo his stifling collar buttons as he rides.

“You can’t forget it, can you?”

“I’m trying, Marston. Honest as the day is long, I’m trying my damnedest.”

After a pause he fills with a sigh, John responds.

“I know you are, Arthur.” He shakes himself off, simultaneously whipping his horse’s reins. In truth, he’s missing being pressed against Arthur on his. But that’s a month old memory now. “And for the last time, I’m sorry. I was impulsive. It seemed like a good chance, taking it, bounty hunting.”

“I’m not saying it wasn’t, I’m just saying a little notice would’a been nice. Abigail especially.” Arthur has hear John balk from feet away. “You didn’t think, I’d all. You learn to. You’re just a young buck, kicking out, trying not to get your antlers twisted.”

“Yeah, your speeches are taming that right outta me.” John huffs an almost laugh as he falls behind Arthur’s lead for a while. They try to put that chasm of dispute behind them. Arthur promises himself to stop bringing it up so much; John must’ve had believed that bounty was worth enough to abandon his boy and Abigail, whatever they are these days. And anyway, John’s back now and it looks like for good. The sun sets behind them as they spare the horses, travelling at a gentle pace up hill after hill, before settling into the steep, downhill trek.

They look ridiculous, straddled up on horseback in full three-piece suits; bloodied and torn, covered in dust. A couple of high-society men down on their luck and turned to fighting for cash. What a scene. _High-society so long as he don't open his mouth_ , Arthur thinks to himself, drawing his mouth into most of a smile.

“Did it not cross your mind that this was rigged from the start?” John interrupts Arthur’s train of thought.

“‘Scuse me?”

“Can’t hear me, old man?” John calls out in retaliation. “Not used to me not whispering in your ear, I take it—“ John spurs his horse and catches up with Arthur’s, galloping alongside. “I said-do you not think this was rigged from the start?”

“What do you mean?”

“This: us, these fucking, restrictive fancy suits.” John gestures at his chest in distress. “The _only_ two they pulled out of that stage luggage Sean pinched, and they were up for the losing pair to wear in a job.”

“I was there, Marston, I know the rules of the game. We lost, so——“

“So!” John cuts Arthur off exasperatedly. “So, these two suits they just happened to have as forfeit-these ain’t gonna have fitted them. No way. Dutch couldn’t get a shoulder in mine.” He beams at his revelation. “They were never going to lose that hand.”

“You’re saying Dutch and Hosea set us up to look like idiots? What for?”

“Fun? I don’t know! I bet they're laughing their asses off at the thought of us all dolled up and shootin’ at folks.” John answers despairingly.

“I’ve heard better jokes, Marston. That’s all I’m saying.” Arthur rears his horse to a stop and gestures to an enclosed patch of trees with some flat-looking ground and points that way, indicating it as a good place to set up camp. John talks over his organisation.

“Alls I’m saying is it’s bad parenting, that's what it is!” John leads his horse and ties him to a nearby tree as he proselytises. “You’re practically their son, they can’t see you do no wrong to anyone: even in a suit. So they set you up for the fun of it: a test for the golden boy.”

“In their eyes maybe, or they’re always looking someplace else at the time.”

“How perfect.” John muses, brewing a pot of coffee for them both.

“Their eyes meet looking past me to each other, I’d put money on it. But that’s their business, not mine.”

“That, there, is the story of their lives, I’m sure.” Arthur laughs to himself, thinking on John’s words. John splays his fingers wide, raising his hands to his face, mouthing the words ‘I’m right’.

“You know; I think you’re right.” Arthur agrees, joining him by the fire. The chill of the night is biting at his wrists and neck. “This is one for the family album, regardless; you and me in suits going out to cause a brawl.”

“All because of that stupid poker game! I said it: it’s Dutch and Hosea playing. They can read each other’s minds.”

“You mean you can’t read mine?” Arthur jokes in response. John shrugs it off as he undoes his waistcoat and then pulls at his chaps.

“I’m getting out of this ridiculous thing.” He chides it a ‘clown costume’ as he pulls at the buttons, snagging a few in the process.

“We look like men of distinction, John. At last.” Arthur drawls the a of last into a relaxed sigh. He could care less about getting dirt all over this stupid suit. He folds his arms behind his head and leans back, closing his eyes. The fire warms his bones and he welcomes it.

“I bet it would make a pretty picture though.” John announces over the crackle of the fire, as if proclaiming a dream or describing a painting he’s seen a hundred times in his head. “Me, drenched in finery, wantin’ for nothing. My every fancy, catered for. Up to my neck in pleasure and riches.” He fiddles with his cuff links. “Oh, that’s a dream of a life.” Arthur continues on John’s thought without thinking. He must; he needs to know, to hear it out loud and spoken from John’s mouth.

“It’s not me in the picture though, is it?” Arthur asks after a long pause. “In that picture in your mind, I’m not in it.”

“Arthur—“ John turns to look at him, wide eyed. “—it’s not that.”

“I’ll save your blushes: you don’t need to fumble about it. I’m just saying as I see it.”

“It’s just a fantasy, that’s all. I see myself alone, no offence meant by it.” He tries to explain, Arthur having caught him short.

“You don’t need to pray to me, kid. Things change. ‘Sides what would Abigail say to you getting peace without her?” Arthur opens his eyes a little, watching John as he stiffens his back.

“She’d call me hell, and you know it.” John shucks his waistcoat off, trying to loosen the tension up. “And can you blame me for going out on my own, in my head. You had Mary...”

“It wasn’t like that with Mary, she wanted something I couldn’t give her.” Arthur sits up, leaning closer to Marston, toying with his own cuff links as he murmurs. “You and I know what we want and what we can give each other. It’s like nothing—“

“Mm’kay, you can stop selling. I lived it too, you know.” John pacifies Arthur with a smile, raising his hands as a show of faith. “I felt what you felt, or least I think I did.” It was harmonious, some quiet and shared union between them, cast in lust and desire and nurtured into silent trust over a matter of two years. Fragments of nights spent learning the touch of each other, tracing every slope and peak of their bodies. It was sex, at the start, and then something entirely different. _Why did we stop?_ John wonders, trying to read Arthur’s face for signs of life. “But we want different things now.”

“Do we?”

“You’re telling me your tastes ain’t changed? All the big, wide west you’ve seen when I was away and you still want this old dog?”

“Old? Again with this? You’re 27, Marston! You’re a nymph, boy; you’re a God! You’ve got youth on your side!” Arthur exclaims, suddenly grabbing John by either arm. “My tastes ain’t changed, as you so prudely put it. It’s you I want. Others just pass the time.” He composes himself and lets the younger man go, steadying his fervour and using that energy to runs his hand through his hair to soothe himself. “If you’re try’na delicately say that your tastes _have_ , then that’s alright. I’ve made a fool of myself and the night’ll pass. Water’ll cleanse my sins in the morning. We can sleep and say none more about it.” He pats Marston on the shoulder reassuringly, running that hand to his neck and cradling his chin with his extended thumb. As he speaks, he admires. John says nothing for what feels like half the night. He silently lights a cheap cigarette and feels Arthur’s hand drop away from his face. John takes his leave for a moment, standing up and taking a few steps into the darkness, turning his back to the man and the fire.

“You got bad eyes...” He murmurs around the tobacco, lifting his eyes to catch Arthur’s. “..if you think I don’t wanna jump your bones right here an’ right now.” He inhales and plays with the cigarette between his forefingers. He offers it to Arthur who declines wordlessly. John flashes a coy smile, letting out a lungful of smoke. “I just thought you’d moved on. With Charles, with Mary, with Trelawny.” John reels the list off like Arthur’s heavenly penitence for having wanted to feel something. “It was easier to assume no than ask for a yes and get hurt, I guess. Thought I’d try to be tough about it...” John trails off as he takes another drag, kicking his heels in the dirt to move the feeling somewhere productive.

“You’ve got your whole life to be tough. Enjoy being soft while you’re in bloom. You’re too quick to perish, you damned idiot.” Arthur cajoles John, moving closer and touching his hand to John’s slender waist. He takes in a big breath of air and blows it out just past John’s head, beside him. “Would you look at that?” Arthur marvels in faux awe. “The air’s all clear.” John laughs out loud, spitting out his cigarette in the process after nearly inhaling the damn thing whole.

“That was my last one, you ass!” John laments, coughing out a laugh, crushing it under the toe of his dusty boots. Arthur shakes his head laughably by way of an apology, before pointing to his saddle bags.

“I’m pretty sure there’s some of mine in there, have at ‘em.”

“Much obliged, old man. You’re getting soft in your old age.” John mocks gently, brushing his fingers across Arthur’s lower back as he passes behind him. “So, where do we go from here?” John asks, not meaning to impose an ultimatum.

“Nowhere.” Arthur closes his eyes and takes in the bliss of the darkness for a short second. “We stay right here.” He removes his jacket and begins unbuttoning his waistcoat. “Fuck it.” He turns slowly and ambles to the tent. “Are you coming to bed?”

John looks at Arthur, broad but statuesque in the moonlight haze behind the firelight, and smiles a little. He strikes a match and thinks about the lifetimes he could live with this man. The heat and the fury, the passion with equal servings of pain and fear.

“In a minute.” He replies, gesturing to the freshly lit cigarette in his hand. “You’re not sleeping in that suit, are you?”

“Who said anything about sleeping?” Arthur quips before disappearing inside the tent, throwing his jacket, folded, to the side of the bedroll. John smirks and takes a hurried drag before flicking the barely-smoked cigarette to the ground and pacing into the tent, ready to make Arthur submit to his wanton touches. He practically throws the older man to the ground when he pounces on him, barely in the tent. Their lips shove together with the same delirious pressure that kept them warm over many a freezing night spent hunting. The kiss is fierce and full of lust. It tastes like blood.

John pushes Arthur into the earth, using all of his lithe weight to pin the older man down. Their legs tangle up as they writhe, hungry for this. Their fingers wrap knuckles together as they fight with their clothes to remove them, throwing them aside rampantly as they do.

Beginning at Arthur's neck below his ear, John carefully kisses his way down his centreline and along his inner thighs. He grins, leaning his mouth back before offering two fingers to Arthur’s open mouth and sinks into the feeling of Arthur’s tongue running over them. Letting out a small moan, John pulls his fingers back and down to Arthur’s ass. He teases him, trying one fingertip and then the other before slipping both in up to the first joint. Arthur gasps, holding John’s gaze and wanting to say a thousand things he can’t find the words for in this exact second.

“Good?” John asks with a low voice, leaning his ribs down onto Arthur’s. They’re stuck together with each other’s sweat. Arthur heaves a breath in as he feels John split his fingers and tease a little further. Arthur pants for mercy, running a hand through John’s hair. John relents and curls them slightly as he pulls out. “Good.” He whispers in Arthur’s ear, catching the bottom of it with his teeth as he draws back. The young cowboy fumbles with a condom before spitting onto his hand and grabbing his throbbing cock, rubbing it up the length and running his thumb over the tip. In eager anticipation, Arthur kicks his ankles up and over Johns shoulders, feeling his muscles stretch at the slow push of John’s hips forwards. John pushing inside him feels like heaven.

“I’ve missed this.” John croaks at Arthur who nods feverishly, gasping again. John teases him all the way until they’re touching, stopping for a moment to share the feeling of being inside Arthur after all this time. It’s been several months and they feel like nothing all of a sudden.

“Me too.” Arthur breathes, letting his hands find their way to John’s ass and digging his fingers in, holding their bodies together as much as he can. John chokes on his inhale when Arthur grabs him, tilting his head to one side and letting his jaw fall open. John cocks his hips back a little and pulls out a bit before thrusting his length back into Arthur, in love with watching the older man throwing his head back on his shoulders. John continues, slowly at first but picking up a rhythm until they can’t breathe for each other, like all the air in the tent is hot and stifling. Like if they died right here, it wouldn’t be so bad. Arthur groans as the sensation mounts in his stomach, his muscles begins to twitch and wriggle under his tough skin. John lifts his hands up from either side of Arthur’s shoulders and steadies himself on his knees as he thrusts, dragging his nails down the length of Arthur’s defined chest. At this, Morgan makes a divine sound, a low hum for the Gods, a growl ripped from the throat of a wolf. John circles his hands around to Arthur’s lower back and holds him by his hips, keeping him still and at his will as he bucks, again and again, into him.

John feels so high he might be sick, but he can’t stop wanting this feeling, heady and disorienting and like life itself. He looks Arthur in the eyes with a pleading that asks him to not stop as he, leaning his head down to Arthur’s, asks the same with a kiss pressed to his older throat. Arthur pants fiercely, soaking and delirious with sensation, draping his arms around John’s neck and pulling his head down into his. John’s mouth tastes like salt and smoke, his hair is getting stuck to his neck, and Arthur wants to share this climax with him. The kiss, broken with stolen breaths, holds them up despite the trembling of their muscles in each other’s embrace, spent and shaking. John slows his hips, letting out a squeal into Arthur’s mouth as he comes. Arthur moans in a shallow breath, coming over John’s stomach, and almost laughing with the younger man. John pulls out and rolls the condom off, flicking it to one side before running a curious finger through the trail on his stomach and chest, lifting that finger to his mouth and sucking it clean. “My tastes ain’t changed.” John mumbles with a wide smile. Arthur tosses John his suit jacket to wipe himself off with. John obliges and discards it again.

“Guess that’s the suit ruined.” Arthur states, lifting himself up on his elbows. John starts to laugh and Arthur can’t help but join him. Exhausted, they fall into each other, trying to prick their lips down from a smile. Eventually, they fall asleep, wrapped up in each other’s warmth in the freezing night. They don’t notice the cold outside.

Arthur wakes to the familiar but long lost weight of John’s arm slung over his stomach. He can feel his arm under John’s neck is dead when he tries flexing his fingers. He casts his sleepy eyes over John’s resting face, inches from his own. John stirs when Arthur moves his leg further up John’s back. With his eyes still closed, John moves to kiss Arthur, pressing their lips together with a nonchalant word between them. “Mornin’.” It’s longing and sticky, as they savour the contact before ripping themselves off each other. The day must begin again, like the night was never there. Rising with labour, John runs a hand through Arthur’s hair before heading out to face the sun, buck naked. He pinches another cigarette and smokes it, watching the clouds exchanging touches between themselves. The soft crunch of the shoed steps approaches John as he admires the view.

“Cut your damn nails.” Arthur whispers to John, leaning his head down onto John’s shoulder from behind him.

“You can say it was a cougar.” John ribs him, wrapping his fingers around Arthur’s, idly tracing Arthur’s short nails with his fingertips.

“A cougar that spared my suit but not my chest?” John recognises that not even he can work up an answer this time, shrugging. “Funny. I’ve never heard a cougar moan before.” Arthur snakes his free arm around John’s waists and over his hip, grazing his inner thigh. John’s breath catches as Arthur moves, leaving John high and dry as he walks away to the nearby river in nothing but his boots and gun belt.

“You’re insatiable.” John tells Arthur, following him in spite of his remark.

“Look at you. It’s easy.” Arthur teases him from a distance, pulling off his boots with almost ease and stepping into the bracing stream. John sidles up to him and kicks some water over his shins. Arthur, washing his face, throws a scoop of water at John, spattering his front. Arthur wades up to him, abandoning the air of playful fun and gently touching John’s waist with his wet fingertips, bringing their hips together as he tucks a strand of hair behind John’s ear at the same time. He lifts John’s head by the chin and kisses him softly, like he’s giving him a gift. Arthur is sure they do it like this in the pictures. He roughens the moment with his sharp teeth and feels John get hard against his leg. Without hesitation, Arthur slinks down to his knees and wraps his arms around John’s back.

“You’d better be quick now, else you’ll catch your death of cold.” John chirps, aware that he’s at Arthur’s mercy for once in a rare while.

“I trust I haven’t lost my charm or my skill.” Arthur cocks an eyebrow and, looking John dead in the eye, seamlessly takes his stiff cock in his mouth. He sucks quickly and hard, causing John to tip his head back and moan to the morning sky.

“You haven’t lost it.” John appreciates in a breath, feeling his thigh muscles shivering already. Arthur slows down and cups John’s balls, taking a moment to pull his mouth back entirely and run his tongue up the length of John’s cock. He visibly shivers, though that might be the water; Arthur can’t feel any part of himself that’s submerged. Recognising the urgency needed and knowing, with proof, that he can still play Marston like a violin, Arthur wraps his lips around John with fervour and returns to pace. He suck his cheeks in and softly grips his hand into a half-fist, feeling his heart flutter at the sound of John’s ragged breathing. It ramps up until it catches in the back of the younger man’s throat and he chokes on it, surrendering his bliss to his knees, faltering slightly. Arthur coughs, swallows and, using John’s hand, pulls himself to standing with a lazy smile.

“I think my feet might’ve gone numb.” John giggles, fighting his way back out of the water, taking Arthur by his extended hand. “Come on.” John walks with him.

Sat on a rock at the waters edge, John washes Arthur’s back for him, on account of his bad shoulder. He takes care to avoid the bullet wound, and even traces his fingers around it, fascinated about how different it feels to the wolf's marks on his cheek.

The sky brightens around them as they rest a while longer, having the good decency to not put any clothes on until the last minute. They enjoy each other’s quiet company, and the fact that their fingers never come undone the whole time. It’s a misery to leave it, as they both expected but didn’t want to accept. They must return to normal and talk about anything else on the way back to camp, toting what’s left of their sullied suits as they ride in.

Arthur’s jacket was abandoned, deemed unseemly for public consumption by them both. They hung it off a high branch near the river they washed in. John had lost his cuff links, though that’s no great shame, and then torn the buttons off his waistcoat in frustration while taking it off. The fly button on Arthur’s trousers had disappeared during the scuffle, at about the same time it seems his suspender clip also got snapped off by John’s fast hands. In return, Arthur had ripped half of John’s shirt collar clean away from the body of it. And both were still both covered in dust up to the knees, and blood spatter on the cuffs and John's lapels.

As they hitched their horses, with Arthur carrying a saddlebag slung across his good shoulder, Hosea and Dutch watch them ride in. They're sat beside each other at a table on the lip of the camp, taking in the sight of the pair.

“Arthur, my dear boy; do you still have that camera?” Dutch calls out to them. Hosea, instead, greets them with a knowing smile and a harmless wave, tipping the brim of his hat to the sky. “‘Cause, boys, this is a picture.”

“I told you it’d fit them.” Hosea mutters to Dutch, still too far away for the boys to hear.

"What did I tell you?" John utters to Arthur in a hushed voice, appalled and loving that he's sure he was right. Arthur rolls his eyes, replying with an almost proud half-smile.

"Seems that wolf didn't get all your brain." 


End file.
